Lonely Soul
by WindSurfBabe
Summary: Although unhappy with her life, a girl is very upset when she finds herself thrown back in time and is offered a chance to start anew. She is then forced to face a new land, a new era, and a new destiny. DagonetOC. AU.
1. Arthur And Guinevere

Hello to all readers !

First and foremost, I don't own any of the characters you recognise... Alas...

Moreover, English is not my mother tongue, so please be indulgent ! And you are of course welcome to tell me about any mistakes in my story.

And finally, this story was written as a part of a school project, so reviews are more than welcome, I will need them to write a report. So please, please review ! Now, enjoy my story !

* * *

- 1 / Arthur And Guinevere -

The Wall. The Great Wall of Hadrian, built in 122 A.D. by a Roman emperor in order to contain the barbarian invasions from the North. Now that Rome had given up its influence in Britain, the Woads had progressively taken back what was theirs, and controlled the country North of the Wall, destroying any remains of the unwanted foreign influence.

Viviana stood on the stone ramparts of Camboglanna, her hands resting on the railing, taking in the landscape that was stretching out before her eyes. A vast green plain, its grass moist with dew, bordered by a forest still partially hidden by the morning fog, giving the woods an air of mystery.

A light wind was blowing, flapping her dress, and carrying the salty smell of the Irish sea. The stone was cold under her fingers, sticky even because of the frost, but not nearly as much so as her soul. Viviana thought about the irony of her life.

Only a few days ago, she was a successful student in biochemistry, in a prestigious school of engineering, quite happy with her professional life, her personal life, however, being an entirely different matter. She had given up long ago looking for love, her natural shyness always preventing her from showing her interest to anyone or standing out in any way. So many times she had hidden her feelings in fear of becoming the laughing stock for everyone again... She had forged herself a stone mask, therefore appearing as cold and almost arrogant to everyone who didn't bother to look further, and they were many. She kept a cool demeanour day by day, and yet her heart was screaming for comfort and affection. She appeared as confident, while inside she was bordering panic.

And then all of a sudden she had found herself in those woods, had been discovered by a patrol of knights and brought to Camboglanna before the king of Britain in these Dark Times, Artorius Castius, also known as Arthur.

It seemed she was free to start a new life, as she had sometimes secretly wished, feeling trapped in the mental prison she had locked herself into…

'My Lady… My Lady, our King wishes to see you.' A man called to her. 'My name is Jols', he announced, bowing. For how long had she been standing there ? Turning away from the horizon, Viviana gathered her skirts and followed him down the stairs.

* * *

Viviana had met the new ruler of Britain the previous day, when she had recovered a little from the shock of being torn away from her time.

He was obviously on the defensive, having heard of a strangely dressed girl found in the woods. _He probably was expecting a Saxon, left behind after Badon Hill_, Viviana had thought. She had heard one of the knights recall the great battle that took place before the Wall.

Arthur, a tall and strong man with curly brown hair and green eyes, had wasted no time in polite remarks :

'I heard you were found wandering in the West Grove. State your name, Lady, and your business in this land', he demanded.

'My name is Viviana Stiles' she stated. 'Where am I ?'

'You are in the fortress of Camboglanna, in Britain. The wall you saw when Tristan and Lancelot brought you here is the Great Wall of Hadrian.' As she remained silent, he added : 'You must forgive my questioning my Lady, but these are no safe times. The Saxons have been defeated, but some still roam the land.'

'…The Saxons ?!'

'Yes. Rome is leaving this island, and I am afraid this is only the first of the invasions we will have to face. My Lady… Are you allright ?'

The Saxons. Britain. Not her time or place, then. Her family not yet born, her brilliant future gone, everything she always knew inexistent… Fear gripped her throat.

'Who are you ?' she had whispered, pale, her eyes wide. 'My name is Arthur. I am the king of this land'.

With this news, her mind shut down, as if in order to prevent any more traumas. Her vision turned to black and she fainted.

When Viviana had opened her eyes, she was lying in a canopy bed, a wet cloth on her forehead. Someone had stripped her of her jeans and T-Shirt, which were nowhere to be seen, and dressed her into a long white nightgown. The room was small, with stone walls, a fireplace and a little window. Laying the cloth away, she thought bitterly about her situation. She was completely alone in the Britain of the Dark Ages, with no money and no profession, condemned to live on the King's charity, alone for the rest of her life. Her future had been stolen from her in a glance, along with her beloved ones.

Her family ! Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought about their sorrow and their worry upon her disappearing. Her parents that she loved so much, and her little sister… She was only five, her little angel, her beautiful Jessie. She would never see her grow up, go to school, fall in love for the first time or get married… They would probably think she had been kidnapped and murdered… She sat up and took her head in her hands. This was a nightmare, a horrible mistake. Maybe if she pinched herself hard enough she would wake up ? She slammed her right fist into the wooden bedhead, almost screaming out with the pain. The room was still there, she had been proven that she was not dreaming.

Clutching her wounded hand in the other, she curled up, trembling, until a knock on the door brought her out of her semi-conscious state. The door opened, and a young woman slipped into the room. Viviana thought she had never seen someone so beautiful : long dark hair, finely chiselled features, tall slender figure… The woman smiled and sat on the corner of the bed.

'Greetings. My name is Guinevere. I am Arthur's wife. Are you feeling better ?' Viviana shook her head, still holding her hand. She didn't feel very comfortable with the Queen's presence, not knowing how to address her properly. 'What happened to you ?' asked Guinevere. She looked genuinely concerned. 'Your Majesty, I…'

'Guinevere, please. The title makes me sound much more serious and austere than I am.' She smiled again, a warm and comforting smile, and Viviana understood why Arthur loved her so much. She told her the truth, not expecting to be believed. She was surprised to see the young woman nod her head in understanding when she was finished. 'I must admit I have never heard of such an occurrence before, but we Woads believe in magic. Maybe my father will be able to help you return to your time. His name is Merlin.' When she saw Viviana's eyes widen in surprise, she asked : 'Have you heard of him ?'

'Yes…' Viviana nodded. 'He is legend in my time… All of you are.'

'Legend ?' It was Guinevere's turn to be surprised. 'Is it a tale of bravery, or one of failure ?'

'I fear to tell you. I do not want to change the future.' Guinevere sighed. 'Your words are wise, and even if my heart longs to know what is expected of me, this matter is better left unsaid. Now…' she smirked. 'Let's take a look at your hand, shall we ?'


	2. The Healer

- 2 / The Healer -

Without asking her any question, Guinevere had examined her bleeding knuckles. 'I see no serious damage, but I'd rather have a healer take a look at it. When you are ready, I will take you to Dagonet.' With these words, she stood up. 'I will send Bregna to assist you' she said, leaving the room.

Bregna turned out to be a short woman in her late thirties. She readied a bath for Viviana in a wooden basin, and refused to leave when she tried to hint she required solitude. 'A Lady of your standing does not take her bath alone', she said, almost horrified. 'Let me assist you, my Lady' she continued, shaking her head in disapproval upon seeing Viviana's short red locks. As she reached out to help her undo her nightgown, Viviana backed away as if she had been burned. It had been long since the young woman had been comfortable with her body, considering herself as fat and disgraceful. Not even reassuring comments from her family could appease her discomfort with herself. Since that fateful day, she only wore dark baggy clothes. Never again had she allowed someone to see her undressed. However, seeing that the maid was determined to stay during the entire process of her wash, she suppressed her fear and gave up on her privacy. Trying to ignore the unwanted presence, she stepped into the basin.

Half an hour later, Viviana's patience was put to the test yet again. Choosing the gown had proved to be even more trying than the bath. 'But my Lady, black is not a colour to wear for a young and beautiful woman such as yourself ! You will never attract any suitors dressed in such a fashion !' Viviana had spun around angrily : 'I want no suitors !' she snarled.

'But…'

'Give. Me. The. Black. One' she said, stressing every word. Backing away in fear, Bregna held the long gown out for her. She chose black as a sign of her mourning for the loss of her family. _They might as well be dead. Or me_, Viviana thought bitterly.

She stepped tentatively in front of the mirror, and let out an exclamation of surprise. The dress could have been specially made for her, clinging to her upper body in a very flattering way, and displaying just enough cleavage to look attractive. Viviana was not fat ; she was a little overweight, her hips a little too wide being compensated by a thin waist and full breasts. Her back and her arms were muscular because of several years of horse riding. The dark colour of the gown made her look even taller than she really was. Viviana could not believe her eyes : for the first time in her life, she felt pretty.

* * *

Guinevere seemed very pleased with the result. She smiled in appreciation. 'Dinner will be ready soon, but before we must have your hand examined. Follow me', she motioned to Viviana to come. As she was walking, Viviana tried to take in her surroundings : little houses made of stone, with red-tiled roofs, children playing in the cobbled streets, a blacksmith's workshop, the swords laid out on a wooden display… She almost stumbled on a chicken running wildly across the street, eyes bulging, chased by a bunch of screaming kids. Camboglanna was slowly recovering from the battle against the Saxons that had cost so many lives. A high price to pay for peace. A peace that united the Woads and the other inhabitants of Britain under one banner.

They arrived to a small house next to the training field, deserted at this time of the day. The door was wide open, and Viviana followed Guinevere inside. The room was vast and clean, lit with the fading light of the setting autumn sun entering through a large window. Wooden shelves loaded with various flasks, bottles and pots covered the white-washed walls. The air smelled pleasantly of herbs. A huge man stood by a table in the centre of the room. He was busy crushing some plant in a stone mortar, a pestle in his large hand. Upon hearing their footsteps, he looked up from his work, and his eyes met Viviana's.

Two pools of grey, full of loneliness but without her bitterness. She saw sadness, but with no resentment towards the world that her eyes held. Intrigued, she allowed herself to study him. He was bigger than anyone she had ever seen. His head was shaved ; a scar was running across his left eye, and another one on his forehead. He was wearing leather pants, and a rust-coloured tunic over a red shirt, held at his waist with a large leather belt. His stance was noble and proud, as if he knew that he was scary and tried to compensate his rough appearance with kindness and gentleness. Viviana felt strangely attracted to him, and she suddenly ached to be in his arms, protected and loved...

'Good evening, Dagonet', greeted him Guinevere, and he bowed in return. 'Lady Viviana was injured, and her hand needs tending to.' She turned to Viviana. 'This is Dagonet, one of Arthur's knights, and a very skilled healer. I leave you in his care.' With these words she turned around, and Viviana was left alone with the giant. An awkward silence ensued. The young woman felt him studying her, and lowered her gaze in discomfort. 'Let me see your hand.' His voice was deep and pleasant.

She obeyed, and he took her small hand in his large ones. Viviana couldn't help but notice that the multitude of scars that covered his hands, some of them obviously new. She shuddered. How many battles had he seen, how many lives did he take, this man who otherwise had dedicated his life to stitching up wounds, healing and caring for the sick ?

He must have sensed her shiver, for he spoke up. 'I apologise if my ugliness offends you. But you must not fear me.'

'I do not fear you', she answered, and lifted her head to meet his eyes. 'And I see no ugliness in you.'

He held her gaze, as if to test her honesty. Then he nodded in assent. 'There are no broken bones. A balm and a bandage will suffice.' With infinite gentleness, he proceeded to wash away the dried blood on her knuckles. Running softly the wet cloth across the cracked skin, he looked up as she winced. 'You should not do this.'

'What ?' she asked, puzzled.

'Hurt yourself.' He was now applying a strong-smelling green balm, holding her hand in his. Clenching her jaw in anger, she made a move to withdraw her hand, but he did not let go.

'Let me go !' she hissed, trying to pull away.

'Not before you tell me why', he replied, impassible.

'This is none of your business !' Viviana felt the anger building up inside, feeling the need to blame someone for everything that had happened to her these last two days.

'It is my duty to protect the inhabitants of this fort. Even from themselves.'

Viviana jerked away, trying to wrench her hand from his iron grip. Hot tears were burning her eyes, blurring her vision. She felt a pang of anguish, her loneliness dawning upon her once again. She was not even angry anymore, she just wanted to go home – wherever that was.

He reached out for her, and pulled her silently into his embrace, where she cried for what felt like an eternity, her tears washing away the bitterness she carried in her heart. She wept for her lost home, for her little sister, for her broken dreams of love and confidence. For the once innocent girl who trusted the world, and who still lived deep inside, suffocating a little more every time Viviana added another brick to the wall guarding her feelings.

When the tears had finally run out, Viviana opened her red and swollen eyes. Her heart felt lighter, and she felt safe. Dagonet smelled of leather and fresh grass, a reassuring and intoxicating fragrance. Then she realised where she was. What had gotten into her ?! She had just thrown herself into the arms of a complete stranger, making a mess of herself and spilling out her feelings, letting down the facade she had so carefully built. They would laugh at her again, calling her a fool for her naivety and her behaviour… Blood rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment, and she pulled harshly away from his arms, fleeing from the Healing Rooms to the safety of her chamber, leaving behind a very confused Dagonet.


	3. Meeting The Knights

- 3 / Meeting The Knights -

Bregna found her by the window, her composure perfect, looking defiantly to the blue horizon, as if to dare this world to try to break her again. Without a word, Viviana followed the maid down the dimly lit corridors to the Dining Hall. At the huge wooden doors, the older woman bowed, motioning for her to enter. Taking a deep breath, Viviana gathered her courage and stepped into the light.

The Hall was immense, long wooden tables lining the central alley that led to the stone step supporting the Head Table, where Arthur sat with his wife and his knights.

Viviana strode down the Hall, the skirts of her black gown flowing gracefully with each step, her head held high, the torchlights lighting up her fiery red hair : a perfect image of confidence, a cold princess in all her splendour. Feeling eyes on her, she looked straight ahead, taking long confident strides, while in her mind she kept telling herself : _do not stumble, don't look down, for it's a sign of weakness. Let them not know you are intimidated_.

Arthur welcomed her : 'Lady Viviana. I am happy to see that you are feeling better. Please, do us the honour of sharing our table.' He motioned to a free seat next to a knight with long golden hair. 'Knights, let me introduce to you Lady Viviana, a… guest at my court.' His tone was clearly advising them not to ask any questions.

Viviana sat down in the wooden chair, and Arthur continued with the presentations. 'To your left is Gawain (the blond knight nodded), Galahad (a very handsome young man with dark curls and a beard beamed at her), Lancelot (another attractive man, older than Galahad, smiled as he raised his goblet in a salute, looking her straight in the eye in a provocative way. Viviana recognised him as one of the knights who had found her wandering in the woods the same day). Now to my left, you have already met Guinevere, my Queen. Next to her is Bors (a burly bald man nodded without raising his gaze from his plate, which he was busy emptying), Dagonet…' The large knight was impassible, which seemed to be his usual demeanour, but a mixture of emotions flashed in his eyes. Was it mistrust ? Compassion ? Comprehension ? Or something even warmer… Affection ? Viviana lost herself in his stormy eyes, as Arthur finished his sentence : '… and Tristan, our scout.' Viviana tore her eyes away from Dagonet to observe the last knight, who didn't acknowledge her, cutting off a piece of meat from his plate with a vicious-looking knife. Tristan, obviously the ever-silent one, had braided hair that hid partially his face, and tattooed cheekbones. He was the other one who discovered her, Viviana remembered. She wondered if the scout was really silent and distant by nature, or if it was a form of act, destined to hide a secret wound, like she did.

* * *

Dinner passed quickly, Viviana eating little and stealing glances of what was going on around her while trying to look interested by the contents of her plate. She was curious about these men whose courage and loyalty became legend. However, she never allowed herself to look upon Dagonet, still too embarrassed about what had happened in the Healing Rooms.

As the hour grew late, many of the knights were starting to become inebriated, and some of them soon left the table, clearly intending to finish the night in the tavern. Tristan had been the first to leave, though nobody noticed him slip away. 'M'Lady...' slurred Gawain and bend over in a wobbly attempt at a salute. Losing his balance, he caught Galahad by the arm, and the both of them stumbled out of the Hall. 'A lovely couple, don't you think ?' She turned around to see Lancelot smirking. 'You must be tired, My Lady. He smiled charmingly at her. Let me see you to your chambers, and maybe we could get to know each-other better...' Standing up, Viviana replied : 'Thank you, Sir Lancelot, but your « help » - she stressed the word mockingly, her tone icy - is not needed.' With these words she turned around and strode out of the Hall.

As she went to sleep that night, she wondered briefly if this all would disappear when she'd wake up – not that she had much hope, after her unfortunate experience with the bedhead. Tossing and turning in the dark room, the straw of her mattress prickling her through the sheets, she prayed she would be allright.

She was woken up by the rising sun. It flooded her room with light through the small window, painting the walls in pink. Yawning, she stretched her body, not surprised to feel the muscles ache from their effort the previous day. In her panic, she had run quite a distance, adrenaline giving her wings.

Viviana stood up, wrapping her arms around her, her nightgown too light to protect her from the morning chill. The stone floor was ice-cold under her feet, so she hopped to the window, where she froze, the view taking her breath away. The sky was clear, going from light blue straight above to a bright pink at the horizon. The sunlight seemed to embrace the dark woods, spreading lazily over the world. The air was cold and pure. In the eerie silence, a flock of birds took off from the woods, flying in circles in the sky above the still sleeping forest. Viviana realised that she had never watched the sunrise back in her time, in fact she had hardly paid attention to the beautiful things that had surrounded her, never realising how privileged she had truly been. Suddenly she felt pacified, serene.

She jumped, startled, as the door creaked open. 'Good morning, My Lady. Did you sleep well ?' Bregna inquired. She was carrying a tray loaded with bread, a few pots and a pitcher. 'I had knocked, but My Lady would not answer... Here, I brought you some breakfast. You might not want to see the Hall, right now...' Surprised, Viviana asked : 'Why is that ?'

'A Lady should never have to witness our knights in such a state. In fact, no-one should. A highly traumatic sight, I dare say.' Viviana couldn't help but smile.

After her breakfast and a bath, an experience still no less traumatic for Viviana, she endured another fight with her maid, the color of her dress being the subject of the disagreement once again. Bregna seemed to think young women to be similar to peacocks, the colour of their plumage meant to attract a suitable match. Viviana felt a smug satisfaction winning the dispute, and left triumphantly the room, dressed in a dark burgundy gown.

The long corridors took her to the fort courtyard. Camboglanna was slowly coming to life, the merchants opening their shops, a delicious smell of fresh bread floating in the air. The day was promising to be beautiful. Climbing up the massive stairs leading to the parapet, Viviana ignored the surprised look from the guards and walked to the stone railing. A patrol was coming back, the tired horses impatient to get back to the stables. With a cry, a hawk crossed the sky above her. Envying its freedom, the young woman wished she could follow, flying away from her troubles. _You can't escape from yourself..._


	4. The Job

- 4 / The Job -

Jols led Viviana to a large wooden door. He knocked. 'Sire, Lady Viviana is here.'

'Let her in', came the answer. He pushed the door open, and bowed, letting Viviana in. She entered the room, and her eyes rested on the wooden table in the center. _The famous Round Table_, she thought. The king of Britain was sitting facing the door, a heap of scrolls in front of him. He looked up. 'Lady Viviana... please, come closer.' As the young woman neared his seat, she heart the door open again, and Guinevere entered. She went to stand behind her husband, resting her hands on the back of his chair.

'My wife has told me your story, and though unbelievable it may seem, I have to admit that there is evidence to confirm it. I have examined your clothing, and I must say I have never seen such a fabric before. What is it called ?'

'Jeans', Viviana mumbled. Arthur nodded pensively.

'You will understand that this must remain secret, for many unscrupulous men could want to use your knowledge of the future in their own interests. Therefore, only the knights will be informed of your true story, for safety reasons, until Merlin has returned.' Viviana nodded.

'Now, are you skilled in embroidery ?' he asked.

'No...' Viviana fidgeted uneasily, fiddling with her skirts.

'How to write poetry, maybe ? Or can you sing ?' She shook her head.

'I can assure you, you'd rather I didn't.' Feminine occupations had never been her forte. Guinevere snorted, and Viviana felt a rush of sympathy towards the young Queen. Arthur sighed : 'My wife will need a lady in waiting, and I thought, while you're here...' Guinevere cut him off : 'Arthur, we talked about this... I am a warrior, I need no-one to look after me.' Viviana smirked. Arthur obviously had a very firm opinion on the matter, though Guinevere was not the type of woman to sit obediently with her ladies in waiting for a nice afternoon of knitting.

'I had understood you were some kind of a healer ?' asked the Queen suddenly.

'Well, I suppose you could say so, though I was only learning...' Viviana confirmed half-heartedly. She was starting to suspect she was not going to like this.

'Another healer ?' Arthur brightened up visibly. 'That would be very useful ! Do you think...'

'I already asked Dagonet. He has agreed to train her.' Guinevere said, looking very satisfied with herself.

_I knew it !! _Viviana groaned inwardly. Simply facing him was difficult enough, now she would have to spend time with him. She sighed. She would have to apologise for her improper behaviour, and be careful about the emotions she let show.

'It is set, then. You will be informed about the time of your lessons. Have a pleasant day.' Arthur picked up a quill, and turned back to his work, finished with her. Guinevere smiled tenderly, and Viviana couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the look Arthur cast at his wife when she preceeded her out of the room. What wouldn't she give for someone to look at her like that...

But that would never be. Who would want her, the ever-cold, arrogant looking maiden who never had anything interesting or witty to say ? It was surely not with her looks that she could attract a man, no matter how hard Bregna tried...

Her good mood was definitely gone. She quickened her stride, impatient to be alone in the sanctuary of her chambers. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she was not paying attention to her surroundings, and ended up bumping into someone. It was a child, and the collision sent it to the floor. The little girl looked up at Viviana in reproach, and then started crying. 'Oh, I am so sorry...' She crouched down, hesitating whether to pick up the child or not. She had never been at ease with children. In her lack of confidence she felt useless and clumsy, thinking she could only harm such a fragile being as a child if she touched it. She compromised by holding out a hand : 'Are you allright ?' The tears stopped as suddenly as they had started, and the girl nodded, beaming at Viviana. She took the outstretched hand, and stood up, dusting herself off.

She pulled Viviana to the nearby tavern, shouting : 'Mama ! I found a new lady !' A woman with long red hair and an apron looked up from the dishes she had been washing in a small basin : 'Well, that's nice, dear. Now, let her go.' She turned around towards an older girl that resembled Viviana's new friend greatly. 'Three ! Haven't I told you to look after your siblings ?!' Noticing Viviana's puzzled look, she explained : 'Didn't have the imagination to name them. Thought numbers would do.' She wiped off her hands on her apron before holding out one to Viviana : 'My name is Vanora. Sorry if Eight bothered you.'

'No, not at all...' Viviana smiled. 'It is I who apologise, I accidentally knocked her down...'

'Oh, that's allright.' Vanora waved her hand dismissively. 'They're strong kids, resistant like their father. Bors could stop the charge of a wild boar with his bare hands.'

'You are Bors' wife ?'

'Nay, wouldn't want to marry him !' Vanora laughed. 'And you must be the lady that was found in the forest... Viviana, is it ? Don't worry, you are welcome in Camboglanna. Arthur would never throw anyone out with the winter approaching. Well, I better be going. T'was a pleasure to meet you, My Lady.'

* * *

Lunch had been quite uneventful. The knights were silent, most of them obviously suffering from a massive hangover. Bors and Tristan were missing. 'So, did you have a pleasant night, Lady Viviana ?' Lancelot asked in his most seductive voice, but he was shushed by a chorus of moans : 'My head... Ow !' Galahad groaned. 'How come yours is not killing you ?' he asked, envious.

'Practice makes perfect, little one !' the older knight smirked. 'That applies to all... activities', he winked at Viviana. She huffed and averted his gaze, only to meet Dagonet's inquisitive eyes.

The healer was studying her, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed on his massive chest. He didn't look away, but held her gaze. Viviana felt a warmth creep up her neck and spread on her cheeks. She was blushing ! Quickly excusing herself, she stood up and stormed out of the Hall, breaking into a run as soon as she passed the doors.

The wind that was blowing on the Wall made her feel better. Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she enjoyed the cool sensation on her burning skin, allowing herself to relax. She was alone here, the guards currently patrolling another section of the Wall. 'It is a beautiful land.' She spun around, only to find Dagonet standing a few feet away.

'Indeed', she replied, looking away, regaining her composure.

'My intention was not to embarrass you. I meant no offense.' He looked sorry.

'None taken.' Viviana was somewhat annoyed that she didn't hear him coming. For a big man, he sure could be very discreet. 'Where does your home lie ?' he asked, taking a tentative step towards her. She looked at him, and considered walking away again, but something about him made her stay. His sad eyes held an avidity for something Viviana couldn't define. Suddenly, she felt the urge to talk, just to spill out everything she had held bottled up inside for so long, to be with another human being that maybe could understand her...

'Across the sea... Far away in both space and time', she whispered.

'What is it like ? Your world ?'

'Someone else would have told you that our world is better than your. But it's a lie. The world I lived in and always knew is big. And polluted. We don't pay attention to what we have until it is gone. Our cities spread, eating at our forests with great speed. We are many, but each human being is alone. We buy nice new things we don't need to forget that we are bored.'

'I don't understand.' He was leaning against the railing, facing her.

'You must know that in my time the well-being of one person has become more important then one of a nation.'

'I would die for Arthur. For any of my brothers, he stated simply. If my death could save a life, I would give it up gladly.'

'I know...' Viviana whispered. A tear trailed down her cheek. 'But I... I am afraid. To die, to fade away, alone...'

'I will let no harm come to you. I swear.' He reached out gently to lift her chin. When she looked him in the eye, she saw sincerity and determination. She nodded slowly, registering his promise.

They were now standing so close to each other she could feel his body heat through her dress. Viviana discovered that she believed this man, that she trusted him like she trusted herself. It felt so right... Viviana felt like she had known him all her life.

How did he feel right now ? Was he only doing his duty as a knight, serving and protecting, or did he feel like she felt, longing to get closer, to touch her like she wanted to touch him ? When Dagonet reached up to cup her cheek with his large hand, her heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to speak. 'I...'

A loud laugh interrupted him : the patrol was coming back, telling crude jokes to pass the time. Dagonet pulled back as if he had been burned. 'I will see you tomorrow morning for your training', he mumbled and strode away.

Viviana was beyond disappointed. Was he so ashamed to be seen in her company ? Was she so repulsive, so unpopular ? For a second, she had been foolish enough to hope he could share her... What ? What was it that she felt for this man ? Affection ? Undoubtedly. Lust ? Maybe. Love ? She had sworn to never give her heart away again, encasing it into an armour of ice, fleeing every time a tender feeling had begun to stir inside. But this time, she could not run, unless she wanted to give up her independence for good. She would have to face Dagonet everyday. How could she work with him if he despised her ? If every time she looked him in the eye she saw disgust ?

A painful knot was beginning to form in her throat, tears threatening to fall. To save what was left of her dignity, Viviana did the only thing she knew : she fled.


	5. Learning To Heal

Hope you like the story so far...

Please, pretty please, review ! I really want your opinion...

* * *

- 5 / Learning To Heal -

Viviana didn't have the heart to come out to dinner, that night. Bregna found her sobbing uncontrollably on her bed, shaking despite the fire that was licking the logs in the fireplace. She wouldn't – couldn't ! – tell her maid the reason of her despair. Alarmed, Bregna had offered to go find the Healer, but Viviana begged her to leave her alone. The maid gone, she wrapped herself in the blankets in an attempt to find some comfort in her own warmth. _How wrong have I been, how foolish, to think one second that I could fit in this world_. Her sensitivity exacerbated by long years of loneliness, she didn't consider exaggeration on her part. When the tears had run dry, Viviana whispered : 'You will be allright.'

'You will be allright', she repeated over and over, until sleep took her.

* * *

The next morning she had woken up with the first rays of the sun. Standing up, she walked to the mirror and sighed, taking in her sorry appearance. Her eyes were red, her face swollen and pale. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed her lack of sleep.

Bregna was obviously relieved to see that she had stopped crying. She didn't even bother to argue when Viviana clad herself in black once more. While Bregna was cleaning up, she stood by the window, admiring the magnificent landscape once again. The sunrise soothed her, and she saw the events of the previous evening in a new light. Maybe there was, after all, the slightest chance Dagonet liked her, even a little. She would be content with that, and she would not have long to see.

Crossing the courtyard, she marvelled once again at the beauty of her surroundings. She was tempted to visit her favourite spot on the Wall, but Dagonet was expecting her, and she was impatient to see him, to know where they stood.

As she was nearing the Healing Rooms, she saw Dagonet through the door. He was leaning over a bed, looking worried. Entering, Viviana saw Vanora, who was holding the small hand of a young dark-haired boy lying under the covers. The child was awfully pale, and the woman's face was wet with tears, and her eyes were red. Viviana could see that she had not been the only one to spend a hard night. She felt ashamed of herself : her troubles were nothing compared to the anguish of a mother for her sick child. 'Is there no hope ?' she heard Vanora ask, her voice filled with dread. 'He has been burning all night, and the morning brings him no relief. If the fever does not drop, we will lose him' Dagonet answered, placing a wet cloth on the boy's forehead. The worried mother let out a sob and took the little hand to her lips, covering it in kisses. 'Gilly, oh my Gilly !! My little boy...'

Feeling an intruder, Viviana turned around to leave, but Vanora called after her : 'Lady ! You can save him, I know you can ! You are from the future, aren't you ?!' She caught her hand : 'Please, I beg you ! Save my Gilly !!' Viviana hesitated : 'I am no healer ! I don't want to raise your hopes in vain ! What if I harm him ?!' She looked desperately at Dagonet. The giant knight looked tired and his shoulders were hunched, telling his grief for being unable to save Bors' and Vanora's son. 'I... I can't ! I have never healed anyone, I can not do this !!' she stammered, eyes downcast. He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him. 'Viviana ! I trust you. I know you will not harm him. You can only help, so why not try ? What if your knowledge can save him ?' She nodded uncertainly. 'I will do whatever is in my power. But I can't promise you anything...'

She came to stand next to the bed. 'What happened ?' 'He has a bad cold. The fever is high, and he is exhausted. His throat is so swollen he can drink none of the potions I tried to give him.' He sighed. 'Gawain has left to find Bors, but he is on patrol with Tristan since yesterday : it is unlikely he will return... in time.' Viviana paled. She had never lost anyone close to her, and couldn't imagine what it was like to feel the life of a loved one slip away between your fingers. She suddenly remembered another bed, and another child in agony, the doctors advising the parents to let go. 'You can still have another child', they had said, dismissing the fragile flicker of a life that was fading between the sweat-covered sheets as already gone.

She was that child. She had heard what they had said. 'There is nothing more we can do'… And she remembered the barbaric remedy that had saved her life.

'Take him to the light !' she ordered, and Dagonet obeyed, picking up his small patient in his muscular arms and carrying him towards the window. She pried Gilly's mouth open and demanded he stuck out his tongue, until she saw what she had been looking for. 'It is no cold, it is an angina. The infection has spread, we will have to clean it up.' She turned to Vanora : 'I will need a soft cloth and any potion for cleaning wounds that is not toxic if swallowed. I will also need some stale bread. Hurry !!' Then she ordered Dagonet to carry the boy to a new bed.

When everything she had requested had been gathered, she warned : 'He will have to be strong, for this will be painful and very uncomfortable, but I have to clean up his throat, else the infection will poison him. I promise to make it as brief as possible.' The sick boy nodded weakly, his forehead glistening with sweat. With the healer's help, Viviana made him sit up. Pouring hot water in a goblet, she added a spoonful of the cleaning potion and stirred. Then she tore off some fabric from the cloth, wrapped it around her finger and soaked it in the mixture. Prying Gilly's mouth open once again, she whispered : 'I only hope it is not too late.'

Taking a deep breath, she reached into his throat, turning the finger quickly. The boy's eyes widened, and he started suffocating. With all his strength left he tried to escape this new torture. 'Dagonet, I need your help !' the young woman cried out, and he grabbed the child by the shoulders, immobilizing him. Vanora let out a muffled cry, but did not intervene.

After a few painfully long seconds, Viviana freed Gilly, and the boy breathed in with relief. Vanora took her son in her arms, wiping sweat from his forehead, whispering reassuring words. Viviana showed them the cloth, which was now covered in blood and a thick greenish pus. Dagonet looked amazed. Searching her eyes, he found them full of tears. 'Make him rinse his throat with what is left in the goblet, and repeat this every two hours. As soon as he can drink again, make him take an infusion of stale bread in warm water.' Gathering her skirts, she hurried out of the Healing Rooms, but at the door, she felt a hand grab hers.

Gathering her in his arms, Dagonet whispered : 'Thank you.' Her head was resting on his chest, the steady beating of his heart soothing her. She grabbed his shirt and let herself cry out her worry and her guilt. 'You showed me kindness and courage still exist, in these troubled times. Long have I been waiting for you', he murmured. Viviana suddenly remembered how he had called to her : 'Viviana ! I trust you...' This time, she did not run. His eyes held affection and respect, and Viviana felt complete and warm. 'I must go back. I will be needed.' Stepping back, she nodded. 'I will wait for news.' Walking through the courtyard she sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening, above, for Gilly to be spared.

* * *

Sitting by her window, Viviana watched the sun sink into the horizon and waited. She knew that in the Healing Rooms, Dagonet and Vanora were watching Gilly's state anxiously, praying he would live. She was thankful to Dagonet for believing in her, hoping she would not disappoint him. She kept waiting even after the fire had gone out and the room became dark and cold. Finally, as her patience was growing thin, she heard a knock on the door, and Bregna entered. 'Lady, His Majesty requests your presence in the Hall.' The maid seemed afraid, and Viviana prepared herself mentally for the bad news.

From afar, she saw Dagonet looking grimly into his goblet, his elbows resting on the table, his whole posture telling he was exhausted. Her heart sank in her chest. So Gilly was lost to them. The boy had had his entire life ahead of him... This was so unfair. But such a death was not uncommon in the Dark Ages, she realised in horror. Before her arrival, Dagonet seemed resigned to lose the child. Her sympathy went to Bors and Vanora, but also to the healer, whose kind heart made the burden of guilt even heavier to bear.

Viviana entered the Hall, walking calmly down the alley. It seemed to her that the conversations around her had stopped for a few deafening seconds, only to start again at a higher level. She realised she didn't care what they thought, nor what they saw. Sensing a change in the atmosphere, Dagonet looked up. His tired grey eyes lit up when he saw Viviana approaching, and a rare smile grazed his rough features, confusing her. Before she could ask what had happened, she heard a roar of joy, and Bors had scooped her into a bone-crushing embrace. 'You saved my Gilly. I owe you forever !! Don't I now, Dag ?!' he bellowed, releasing her. 'Drink up, everyone ! Tonight we feast !!'

As the room erupted in cheers, she went to take her place beside Gawain, who patted her on the shoulder with enthusiasm. 'Well done, My Lady !' Galahad smiled, raising his goblet, his eyes full of respect, and even Tristan nodded in acknowledgement. It seemed to her that the knights had accepted her, as if she had passed some sort of a test. She shook her head : 'There is no need for compliments, really.' 'And still, your action was brave, even more so in your modesty. You have our eternal gratitude', said Arthur. 'Yeah, I would have hated to lose a bastard so promising !' smirked Lancelot, who immediately had to dodge a chicken leg sent his way by Bors.


	6. The Beginning

I'd like to thank all the people who left a review; it keeps my morale high when I'm searching up words endlessly in the dictionnary...

For new readers: please take a moment to comment the story, to leave advice or constructive criticism...

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- 6 / The Beginning -

Days had become weeks, as Viviana adapted to her environment and her new duties, slipping into a comfortable routine. She would rise with the sun, eat, and take a short walk on the Wall before going to the Healing Rooms to assist Dagonet with whatever task he needed help with. She crushed plants in a mortar, made potions and balms, prepared bandages and tended to the sick, overcoming her initial fear and clumsiness and learning to trust her abilities. Under Dagonet's supervision, she discovered how to clean wounds and stitch up cuts, mostly those of his fellow knights, after occasional skirmishes with a group of rebellious Woads or a particularly rough training session. The big knight proved to be an excellent teacher, patient and attentive. He explained to her the properties and uses of every herb and ingredient, and tended to his patients with devotion and gentleness.

Often, when the Healing Rooms were empty, they worked side by side in a companionable silence. Viviana liked his quiet and confident demeanour, and discovered she was slowly learning to know and to trust him, and he relied more and more on her as she became increasingly skilled in the art of Healing.

* * *

The woman's forehead was glistening with sweat, dissolving some of the elaborate blue paintings adorning her face. Touching her skin, Viviana felt the fever radiate its malign heat : 'She is burning.' Beside her, Dagonet nodded. 'She does not respond to the feverfew or the meadowsweet I gave her, and she has not eaten nor slept for three days.' He glanced at the woman's child, a little girl of barely five winters named Siobhan, who was sleeping in a chair next to the bed, wrapped up in his cloak. 'She will not last long.'

The room was dimly lit, shutters closed, for the light hurt the Woad's eyes. The woman moaned softly, shuddering with pain under the covers. Viviana went to the basin on the windowsill, soaked a cloth in the cold water and placed in on the Woad's forehead. The woman shivered, but relaxed a little, and seemed to finally sink into a dreamless slumber. Walking slowly in order to make as little noise as possible, Viviana approached the wooden shelves laden with vials and pots and studied their contents, looking for a way to save Siobhan's mother. She felt Dagonet's presence behind her, as he walked up and whispered : 'Can you save her ?' She sighed. 'I know not what it is that ails her, nor if I can heal it.' She could imagine him nodding, resigned, could feel the disappointment he would never show her. Viviana knew he carried a little more guilt each time he was powerless to save a being that had been entrusted in his care.

There was a knock at the door and as she turned around, she saw two young knights, whose names she didn't remember, enter the room. They were dragging a Woad who was weakly trying to free himself, and was whispering feverishly, his nose bleeding profusely. 'We found him in the plain, he had fallen off his horse', explained one of the knights. 'You beat him up', stated Dagonet, and they flinched at the coldness in his voice. 'He looks ill, so we wanted to bring him here, but he wouldn't come. He keeps babbling in his pagan…' 'Lay him on one of the free beds, and get out !' The big knight barked, and they obeyed hurriedly. It was well-known that despite his impressive stature and his somewhat scary appearance, Dagonet was a kind and quiet person : his outbursts were rare and therefore even more feared.

Viviana hurried to the next room to retrieve another basin and some cloth, and started to wash away the blood on the man's face. She jumped when he caught her wrist. 'Help… me…' he pleaded, and she was stuck by the terrorised expression on his deathly pale face. 'Dagonet !' she called urgently, and he strode to her side. 'Help me… Village…' The man convulsed and started to cough violently, and Dagonet pulled her back. Freeing herself, she hurried to help : 'He is suffocating ! He must sit up !' With the healer's help, she pulled him up, and though the Woad's breathing was still laboured and raspy, his body relaxed as he inspired hungrily. 'Help… us' he whispered, and fell back on the pillow, unconscious.

A soft sound made her turn around : Siobhan was coughing in her sleep, her little form curled up under the cloak.

* * *

The knights had been gathered in the Table Room, Arthur at their head, Guinevere standing beside his chair like a guardian angel. She and Dagonet were standing before the assembly that had been summoned after he had spoken to his leader about what had happened earlier. All eyes were on the healer and his apprentice, making Viviana feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. She averted the King's penetrating gaze, choosing to study the stone floor instead. 'An hour ago, a Woad arrived from the Eastern Woods, but couldn't make it to the fort. His condition is critical : he is very weak, and has difficulty breathing. Before passing out, he asked for our help', Dagonet reported. 'Our help concerning what ?' Arthur inquired. 'He didn't tell.'

'What about the mother and her child ?' Viviana looked up as Guinevere spoke. The young woman knew she must be concerned about those who were her people before she became Queen of Britain. 'The mother… She is very ill, but I cannot tell if it is the same sickness as the man's.' Dagonet held the Queen's unwavering gaze. 'Siobhan has been coughing, and complaining about a sore throat.' Guinevere turned to Viviana : 'A cold ? Like Gilly ?' With these words full of hope, all the knights turned to look at the young woman, who fidgeted nervously. 'I don't know.'

Arthur sighed. 'Anyway, the man asked for help, and I can not refuse it.' He glanced at his wife : 'Do you know the village he spoke about ?' 'There is a settlement in the woods, about half a day's ride to the East', she replied, and he continued : 'Viviana, you will leave tomorrow morning. Lancelot and Bors will accompany you.' As the youngest of the two mentioned knights flashed her what he thought was a charming smile, Dagonet's voice rang in protest : 'Arthur ! This is too dangerous for her. Let me go instead !' The big knight looked clearly worried, but the King shook his head. 'Viviana has knowledge you possess not, Dagonet. She may be able to discover what is happening out there. Lancelot and Bors will protect her.' 'So you would put her life at risk…' Arthur rose from his seat. 'They are my people !! You have fought to protect them : now, they are yours, too.' As Dagonet grumbled something rebelliously, he continued : 'In the morning, they will leave to help the village.'

'Unnecessary', stated suddenly a voice from the shadows. 'Tristan !' Gawain exclaimed, eyes widening, and Viviana understood his shock : as he stepped out of the shadows, she saw that the scout was deathly pale underneath the mud that covered his clothes, his tattoos jet black on his white cheekbones. 'What do you mean by "unnecessary" ?' whispered the Queen, and the silent knight turned to face her. Then he shook his head. 'No survivors.'

Guinevere turned away, her hands balling into fists, and hissed words in Woad language that Viviana guessed to be swearing. Looking at his wife with compassion, Arthur seemed thoughtful. 'Tristan… Go to rest. You will report to me again in the morning. Dagonet, Viviana… Keep me informed about the patients' state.' Nodding gravely, the young woman gathered her skirts and exited the room. As she neared the courtyard, she heard laughter and voices, the squawking of condemned chicken and the merchants' cries as they boasted about the supposed qualities of their products. It was strange to see that the fort was full of life, despite the death of a whole village nearby. _They don't know_, Viviana thought, _but even if they did, would it change their day ?_ It was almost as if the people who died didn't count, as if they were expendable meat… Like the knights used to be, for Rome : shields that could be thrown away and forgotten about once they were broken.

Absorbed in her dark thoughts, she jumped as Tristan stepped out of a shadow in front of her. 'I need your help', he stated and started to walk away, obviously expecting her to follow. He led her to a door, and opened it, motioning to her to enter. It was his room, she understood, when she saw the weapons laid out on a wooden table : a long sword, a bow and some arrows, that needed mending from what Viviana could see. He closed the door behind them, and she felt uneasy, and even slightly scared. There were rumours at the fort about the silent scout, stories that tavern girls liked to tell at night and that chilled one's blood, and even if Viviana didn't believe them to be true, Tristan was still the knight she knew the less. She chided herself : _Stop it, you silly woman. I doubt the first thing he wants to do after coming back from a mission is to gut someone._ She felt only slightly better. She waited for him to talk, or do something, but he was turning his back on her. After a while, she started to feel a bit silly : what was she supposed to do ? Just when she was about to ask him what exactly he wanted from her, he turned around. Without a word, he showed her his hands, and she gasped in horror.

His palms and fingers were nothing more than a bloody mess, what was left of the skin hanging in crimson stripes. 'There is water and cloth on the table', he remarked calmly, and Viviana wondered at the strength he must possess not to flinch at the torture his scorched hands were certainly inflicting upon him. Or maybe he was simply used to such pain… Her heart was aching at the mere thought of the torment, and she hurried to retrieve the pitcher full of cool water and what once was one of his old tunics. Obviously, he hadn't wanted Dagonet and the other knights to know he was wounded… Or rather, that he had these particular wounds. 'I will need something to disinfect' she warned, but he only shook his head and murmured : 'Use the water.' His eyes were cold and determined, and the young woman sighed, giving up. 'Sit down', she commanded, her voice lacking its usual coolness, and she wished she could sound a little more confident right now. 'This will hurt', she warned, and dropped the fabric in the water. Taking one hand, Viviana then proceeded to wipe away the blood as gently as she could, cringing inwardly every time the water turned a deeper shade of red. She worked carefully, putting the remaining skin into place and bandaging his strong, calloused hands. What kind of effort could have damaged them so ?

He was breathing deeply, showing no signs of suffering, though she knew the water was probably burning his scorched flesh like fire. It was then that she noticed the small remaining welt on the side of his left hand, and understood. Understood why he hadn't gone to Dagonet, why he hadn't wanted his brothers to know. 'You buried them, didn't you ?' she whispered. He looked in her eyes, is if daring her to laugh at this proof of humanity. Because to him, compassion was a weakness, something that could get you or your brothers killed. Because if you showed pity to a dying adversary, he was not obliged to do the same. The knights relied on Tristan. They watched him creep upon their enemies like a ghost of vengeance, watched him fight ; afterwards, they listened to the rumours about him, and believed them, because he was on their side. They needed him to be invulnerable, needed him to be quick and lethal, because when things got ugly in the heat of battle, they needed to know he'd be there to save the day. 'I won't tell', she whispered, for she knew the secret must be kept, for the sake of all those she had come to care for.


	7. Contagion

Lady-of-the-Dueling-Mist, shariena, Birdy Main, Lexoo, homeric, TragicCure : thank you for your reviews !!

Here comes the next chapter, after my muse's short absence... Hope you'll enjoy it.

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- 7 / Contagion -

Her heart was heavy that evening, but her stomach grumbled loudly, and she realized she had not eaten since the previous day. She felt guilty about thinking about something as trivial as food when three people lay ill in the Healing Rooms, but she reasoned that if she were hungry she would be no use to her patients, and went to dinner.

As the evening was nearing its end, blending into the night, some of the knights decided to continue the feast in the tavern, whose owner was none other than Vanora. Bors refused to listen to Viviana's refusal when she said that she was needed in the Healing Rooms. When she made it to leave, she felt someone touching her arm. 'You should go', murmured Dagonet. He laid his large hand on her shoulder, and its warmth made Viviana's heart flutter. She suddenly wished there was no dress separating their skins, and immediately chided herself for it : even if the knight shared this attraction, this was neither the time nor place for such desires. 'You have worked the whole night and day ; I will take care of them.' His words were true, and they both had already seen patients who seemed condemned ; this was nothing new to Viviana, even if it always was difficult. And yet, this time there was something more to these cases, something that was bugging her, a little voice in the back of her mind, whose words she couldn't distinguish.

'See ? You can come, lass !' Bors slurred, dragging her by the arm and ignoring Arthur's stern look. Viviana tried in vain to resist, digging her heels into the ground and glancing at Dagonet for help, but he merely chuckled as Gawain finally scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.

'Let me go at once !!' she exclaimed, scandalized, but the knights only laughed. She tried to squirm out of Gawain's embrace, but he was holding her tightly, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. Finally she resigned, trying in vain to look dignified while hanging helplessly over the blonde knight's shoulder. Despite her sour looks, despite the day's events, she felt happy and accepted. It was a new and oddly pleasant feeling for her.

The tavern was crowded with both local men and Woads. Both groups eyed each-other warily, the peace between them still fresh and their past wars not fully forgotten. Gawain slumped her onto a chair and she shot him a dirty look, crossing her arms in outrage. He only smirked, and walked away to order the drinks. Feeling a movement behind her back, Viviana turned around to see Tristan sitting in the shadows, chewing impassibly on a green apple. He nodded in acknowledgement, and the young woman understood that their secret now marked them as brothers. Bors slumped onto a chair at the other end of the table, Galahad and Lancelot next to him. 'Vanora ! Come, bring us some ale !' he bellowed, and the red-haired woman approached, carrying a heavy-loaded tray.

As the night went on, Viviana observed the knights : Bors and Gawain were now singing a rather crude song about their masculine attributes and naughty farm girls : alcohol obviously made them cheerful, but seemed to have no effect at all on Tristan, who drank silently one glass after another ; if Viviana didn't know better, she could've thought he was trying to forget the recent deaths he saw. But the knights had been fighting in Britain for over fifteen years ; they knew since long that drowning the victims' faces in alcohol was not an option.

She was shaken out of her thoughts when Galahad quickly excused himself to empty his stomach into a gutter nearby ; Viviana wrinkled her nose in disgust. 'Yeah, some of us can actually hold their drink' muttered Tristan behind her. 'I can… can hold my… wha' was it again ? Yeah, my ale !' the youngest knight stammered, sprawled out on the floor, trying to reach for his mug, but Lancelot took it away, laughing : 'No more for you tonight, Pup !'

And the night went on : Lancelot and Bors were engaged in a card game : judging by the curly-haired knight's sour looks, he wasn't winning. Galahad had foolishly challenged Tristan to a knife-throwing contest, and was now contemplating sadly his complete defeat.

She missed Dagonet's presence, but he was right that she needed to rest. Yawning, she excused herself, gathered her skirts and walked away, heading into the shadows of the courtyard that led to her room.

* * *

She was woken up by a loud banging on the door. Still half asleep, she mumbled 'Wha' is it ?' and rubbed her eyes. 'Viviana ! Viviana, wake up !' called Lancelot's voice. He sounded alarmed, and she hurried to throw a shawl on her nightgown, inspiring harshly when her feet met the cold stone floor. When she opened the door, the light of the torches blinded her, and she blinked, trying to distinguish the knight's face. 'What is it ?' she asked. 'New patients have arrived in the Healing Rooms. New cases of illness.' He looked really shaken. 'You should come quickly.'

She splashed cold water from the basin on her face, and dressed as fast as she could. Running down the stairs, she was thinking frantically : the disease was spreading ; there _had_ to be something she knew, something she could do to stop this. In her hurry she almost ran into Dagonet. The giant knight steadied her, looking worried : 'You allright ?' She nodded : 'Lancelot woke me up. What is going on ?' She saw his grey eyes darken, the lines of his face harden as he gestured around them : 'This time, we are overwhelmed.'

There were four new patients, all of them presenting the same symptoms as the Woads : a merchant of the fort and his family, and a young seamstress named Lorna. 'I don't understand…' Viviana muttered as they walked along the sickbeds. 'What is the link between these people and the Woads ?' Dagonet shrugged. 'A poisoning ?' She shook her head resolutely. 'The epidemic would've been more massive… Oh Gods.' She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified. _Why haven't I thought about it earlier ?! How could I have missed it ?_ 'There must have been a contact', she whispered. 'And I finally know what it is we're facing. It's called influenza.'

'How bad is it ?' the healer asked carefully, and she laughed bitterly. 'Very bad, trust me.' You can't treat it simply with cough remedies.' There was nothing here to help these people : no needles, no antiviral drugs, not even a needle and a syringe to make vaccines… How was she supposed to heal them ?

Overcoming this wave of despair, she straightened her shoulders. 'We need to know how bad the epidemic is. I need to talk to these people.' 'Marcus' condition is the best', agreed Dagonet. 'Maybe we can learn something from him.'

Marcus was a rather fat, balding man in his late fifties, although it wasn't easy to tell : he was shivering under the covers, clutching them with deathly pale hands, moaning in pain. When the healers asked him about his recent clients, he answered in a hoarse, painful voice : 'Sold a hundred short swords to ol' Moirrey there, in the woods…' A violent spasm shook his imposing body, and he coughed violently. When he spoke again, it was with great difficulty : 'Please… Save my family !' Laying a hand on his arm, Viviana whispered : 'I promise you to do anything in my power.' This seemed to reassure him, and he laid back on the pillows.

His wife was sleeping in the next bed : a woman in her thirties, her dark hair tangled and moist with sweat. Her skin was an unhealthy bluish colour, with dark circles under her eyes. Her chest rose irregularly. 'She can't breathe', murmured Viviana, and Dagonet nodded in consent. The sick woman was clutching a bundle to her body. Suddenly, a small hand emerged from the folds of fabric, and Viviana felt her heart constrict painfully. Marcus and his wife had a child, only a baby, whose life was condemned before it even really began if she didn't find a cure soon. This responsibility dawned upon her, and her hands shook in panic, but Dagonet caught them in his strong, scarred ones : 'Viviana, listen to me. You will not carry this weight alone. I am here.' She shook her head, staring at the floor, and he let go of her hands to lift her chin with his calloused finger, his thumb brushing her cheek tenderly. She looked into his silver eyes ; they held a devotion, a tenderness and a faith that she had only seen once, before. Such was the look that Arthur cast on his young wife ; such was the way Guinevere gazed back at him, when she laid her hand on his arm for support, when she stood beside him in the Table Room. A look of love ; she could've not recognized it, otherwise, and this new knowledge gave her the strength she needed to overcome her fears. If Dagonet had faith in her, she would live up to his trust.

Smiling lightly, Viviana laid her hand on his, leaning into his palm, closing her eyes. Their fingers entwined as he pulled her closer, and her head came to rest on his chest. She listened to his steady heartbeat, took in his fragrance and his warmth. Feeling his lips on her forehead, she looked up to see his eyes darken, and he leaned in again for a kiss that made her weak in the knees. She grabbed his tunic, clinging to him as he deepened the kiss. So tender, so powerful… Their little moment of peace in the middle of the upcoming mayhem.

The door banged open, and Lancelot and Gawain burst in, dragging a body behind them. 'It's Tristan', breathed the blonde knight. 'He passed out in the courtyard.'

Tearing herself from Dagonet's embrace, Viviana ran to the knights, and laid her hand on the scout's forehead : he was consumed by a fever so high she wondered how he had been able to keep up the pretence for so long. 'What is wrong with him ?' asked Lancelot. 'Influenza', she answered. 'Warn Arthur that we are facing an epidemic. From now on the fort must be quarantined.'


	8. Hope

- 8 / Hope -

Water trickled down Tristan's pale face when Viviana laid a wet cloth on his forehead in an attempt to diminish the fever. The scout had been stoic during the first hours of his illness, teeth clenched so that no moan of pain would escape his lips, but now, in the late hours of the night, he lay vulnerable under the soaked sheets, burning, trembling in his sleep, plagued by delirium-induced nightmares.

She had been tending to him since the beginning, feeling guilty that she should care more for him than for the other patients. But to her, he was also more than any other patient. It was him who found her in the woods – even if he had been anything but gentle, dragging her out of her hiding place unceremoniously ; he was one of King Arthur's legendary knights ; he was Dagonet's brother ; he was her friend.

* * *

Quarantine had been established, the thick, iron-spiked wooden gates of the fort barred, after an argument with Arthur concerning the possible spread of the pandemic. The King thought that in order to save his people Camboglanna should be evacuated ; Viviana, however, argued that they couldn't risk the disease escaping the fort and allowing the epidemic to reach country levels. That was two days ago. Since then, the events had unfortunately proven Viviana right, for the number of sick people had exploded. The Healing Rooms were crowded, the two healers overwhelmed, but they could not ask for volunteers, for fear they would also be contaminated.

It seemed that life at the fort had frozen, all trades shut down. Vanora's tavern had been requisitioned, all rooms made available for the arriving patients. People were advised to stay at home, to stay calm, but panic had begun to crawl into the settlement's heart ; brawls had erupted here and there, and the knights were now patrolling the empty streets, in charge of the precarious peace, the same peace they had fought for, and that was crumbling right before their eyes.

Rumours had started to spread ; word was that the Woads were responsible for the disease, that they had brought it upon the inhabitants of the fort as God's punishment for the tolerance they showed to the pagans.

They didn't know that a whole village had died, full of children too young for any religious beliefs, didn't remember that the disease had spread in the fort through a man who meticulously went to church every Sunday…

Viviana winced, straightening her shoulders. Her back ached from the constant bending over the sickbeds, her eyes were tired, she had not eaten nor slept for two days, but there was no time for rest : their situation was critical, she was more than needed. Death hadn't spared Camboglanna : Lorna the seamstress, a young woman about Viviana's age, had died the previous night, succumbing to pneumonia, along with Siobhan's mother. The little orphan was currently fighting for her life, her small body shivering under the covers, her throat so swollen and painful that she could barely swallow the potions Dagonet made for her. The merchant Marcus, was now a widow, and a father no more : their son died soon after his mother. And still more people arrived, displaying all the symptoms of the viral infection : fever, muscle pain, cough and sore throat. Should the epidemic continue, the two healers would soon be short of remedies ; food was already growing scarce. Then, without any hope left, nothing would hold back the inhabitants' panic anymore : the lowest human instincts would claim their due, rape and murder becoming right…

Very few families had been spared, and they were now barricaded in their homes, praying for God's forgiveness. However, the fort's priest, Father Elysius, was not so discreet : he proclaimed that no one would survive the disease, should Britain fail to be purified of its sinners. The grieving inhabitants of Camboglanna were easy to influence ; they needed someone to blame for their loss, so they listened to his poisoned words, and wrath lit a cold flame in their hearts. The number of Elysius' followers increased every day as the fort paid its morbid tribute to influenza, and the church bells rang, calling the people to pray and repent, to reject those who became their brothers when Merlin crowned Arthur king of Britain, along with those who helped them.

Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Viviana went to retrieve the set of potions for the latest patients to arrive into the Healing Rooms. _Too late, it is too late_, she thought, when she glanced at a woman who was clutching desperately her child to her chest, tears drawing intricate patterns on her dirt-smeared cheeks. The child was already dead, from pneumonia or famine. So many malnourished children, so many people in torn, filthy clothes ; so many dead.

The room spun around her, her hands suddenly weak, and the vial she was holding fell to the floor, shattering. 'Oh no…' Viviana mumbled, and kneeled hurriedly to gather the shards. They could not afford to lose any of their precious potions, she knew it. If only she wasn't so clumsy… She hissed in pain when a sharp edge bit into her skin, instantly drawing blood. Tearing carelessly a strip of fabric from the hem of her dress, she wrapped it quickly around her palm, picked up the last pieces of broken glass, and stood up. Once again, weakness washed over her, her legs refusing to support her, but a strong arm broke her fall, and she found herself gazing into Dagonet's tired eyes. 'You are exhausted', he stated. 'Go to rest, at least for a few hours. I don't want you hurting yourself anymore.' Before she could protest, he pushed her gently out of the Healing Rooms : 'Go see Vanora. Eat. Sleep. And have someone take a look at your hand. You don't want something getting into the blood.'

She froze. Blood. It carried the remedy to the virus, flowing in the veins of the one man who had survived the pandemic. The nameless Woad, the last of his tribe, who was currently resting, still weak and barely conscious.

Turning round, she ran out of the room, in search of the only person who could help.

* * *

Guinevere was standing next to the Woad's bed, looking at the resting man pensively. Viviana studied her : the young Queen looked just as exhausted as she was, dark circles under her eyes betraying the sleepless nights she spent at work, supporting and advising her husband, keeping the fort in order in the middle of the crisis. Her face was thinner than of usual, telling that she had deprived herself of the little food left for those she thought deserved it more : Arthur, the knights. Viviana.

'Are you sure about this ?' she inquired gravely, looking Viviana in the eyes. The young woman understood that Guinevere's heart bled for the man who had already lost everything, and who was her family by birth, and that she was worried about how the possible remedy could endanger his life. 'No', she replied honestly. 'But it is our only hope.' Guinevere remained silent for a while. 'What are the risks ?' she finally asked. 'That he dies of blood loss. That the people we treat develop a lethal reaction to his blood. Or it may not work at all.' Viviana shrugged. 'However, I don't see how the situation can get any worse.' The Queen smiled sadly. 'Your words are, as always, true. I will speak to him. Maybe this will seal the peace between the people of this land once and for all.'

* * *

This would work. It had to. Viviana knew it was their last hope, as she tied a strip of fabric around Tristan's biceps, tightening the tourniquet to make the veins visible. She glanced at the scout : illness had weakened him, and he had lost considerable weight. It was hard to recognize the hardened warrior he used to be. But that would change, she promised herself. He'd live.

Taking a deep breath, she drove the iron needle that Woads normally used for their tattoos under his pale skin. He didn't wake up with the sting, remaining motionless and silent. She squeezed the improvised syringe, and a small amount of the Woad's plasma, that she had separated from red cells by sling-like centrifugation, entered his veins, like a tattoo in blood. Pulling the needle out, she bandaged his arm, and covered his upper body again : she would not risk an evolution into pneumonia.

From the other side of the bed, Galahad looked up from the chair he was slumped in. He had been sitting by the scout's side since he came back from his patrol, still fully armed, his once soft curls now matted with sweat and dirt, his juvenile face grimy and tired. He looked older, more serious, more mature.

Of all the knights, he seemed to have taken the news of Tristan's illness the worst. Although he had always proclaimed that the silent knight's affinity for killing was unnatural and immoral, Tristan was a constant in his life, along with the older knights. He had always been there, and always would be, though cold and sarcastic, for the young man who had been torn away from his home and cast into bloodshed. Galahad knew no other family. He had no other friends. His world seemed to crumble, as one of them lay dying.

'It's strange…' he mumbled. 'I mean… Seeing him like this, him of all people… I mean, he's always so, well…' 'Imperturbable', she finished, smiling sadly. He nodded vehemently. 'He always was the best of all of us… Better than Lancelot, or even Arthur… If someone had told me one of us would be lying here, today, I would've not thought of him. I mean me, or Gawain, or Lancelot – not that I wish it, mind you - but Tristan… never.' 'But in Lancelot's case I would expect something more… venereal.' He laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the silent room.

'He has been talking… In his sleep.' He looked at her expectantly. She knew what he was talking about, for she had often heard Tristan whispering feverishly during one of his troubled dreams, when she tended to him in the late hours of the night. 'Isolde. Who is she ?' he wondered aloud, and she turned away, maybe a little too quickly. 'You know who she is. Don't you ?' She shook her head. 'I'm sorry, Galahad, but it is not my secret to tell.'


	9. The Trial

- 9 / The Trial –

The chair behind her creaked, making Viviana jump in surprise. As she turned around, Tristan sent her an imperturbable look from beneath his braids, and she shook her head at this habit of his. He had crept up on her again, and she could swear she didn't hear a sound trouble the silence of the room.

The Healing Rooms were almost empty now, a few days after she and Guinevere had launched what was probably the first vaccination campaign in history, administering some of the Woad survivor's blood to all the patients who could still be saved : those whose initial illness did not degenerate into pneumonia and respiratory failure. Amongst the newly healed, those who were strong enough had then helped to save the others, the cure passing from vein to vein, like a pact in blood. Viviana had spent the last days preparing injection doses and tending to the condemned, trying her best to relieve their suffering. Most of these people had already lost their families ; very few had any will left to fight on. The survivors looked at each other in disbelief, wondering why they'd lived rather than those whose bodies were burning night and day on funeral pyres. The acrid black smoke visible from afar, telling of the fort's grief.

Tristan was recovering quickly, refusing to stay in bed any longer. The night following the fall of fever, he sneaked out of the Healing Rooms, much to Viviana's and the other knights' concern. They had spent the night looking for him, only to see him show up for his check-up the following morning. Viviana hadn't even imagined that Dagonet knew such nasty words.

She chuckled at the memory while checking the scout's temperature, a hand on his forehead. 'It seems you are healed', she smiled at a reluctant Tristan, who had been brought to the Healing Rooms under Gawain's supervision, and who obviously didn't appreciate being ordered around. 'You should not strain yourself too much, yet' she added, glancing disapprovingly at the brand new amount of mud covering his clothes. He didn't acknowledge her words, and she thought that he'd probably be prowling somewhere in the wild an hour from now, much to Dagonet's annoyance. After all, he had a reputation to live up to.

Coming out of her reverie, she realised that Tristan had taken her distraction as an occasion to scamper away. Shaking his golden head, Gawain headed out, and she smiled again : on the wooden table, amongst the vials and pots, lay a green, juicy-looking apple.

She felt someone tug at her skirts. Looking down, she saw Siobhan's small, pale face ; the little girl was watching the fruit hungrily. 'Here, you want it ?' Viviana asked, offering it to the child. Siobhan hesitated, and then nodded slowly, taking the proffered apple hesitantly. Reaching out, Viviana stroke her blonde curls. The little Woad was still recovering from the disease, and she hadn't uttered a word since the death of her mother. Vanora had offered to take care of her, but Siobhan seemed to prefer Viviana's company, escaping the tavern owner's surveillance to come see her in the Healing Rooms. Usually, she sat on one of the beds and watched her work, finally falling asleep, curled up in a ball. Viviana would then cover her carefully, tucking away the loose strands of soft hair that fell into her face.

As Siobhan settled down on her favourite place, chewing seriously on the apple, Viviana resumed her work.

Dagonet had gone with the other knights to patrol the fort's surroundings, checking neighbouring settlements for signs of the pandemic. They had taken with them a few vials of blood, in case influenza had made more victims. The big knight had bid her goodbye in the morning, during their first moment alone since the beginning of the nightmare. She had feared that he might regret their kiss, awkwardness staining their relationship, but her worries were unfounded, for he had sought her out before his departure. 'Take care of yourself', he had murmured, cupping her cheek tenderly with his calloused hand. Looking into his silver eyes, she had asked : 'Return to me'. He leaned in to kiss her, their embrace full of contained passion, and she marvelled at the way his arms felt so right around her, at how comfortable and confident she felt around him. Before she had met Dagonet, love was like walking on razorblades : a wrong step and she'd lay bleeding ; but with him it was like breathing : instinctive and vital.

She had watched him leave from her favourite spot on the Wall, leaning over the railing. As the knights disappeared in the fog, she descended the stone stairs slowly, already missing his quiet presence.

* * *

Viviana was galloping through the woods, the wind playing with her hair, Bregna close behind her. Glancing behind her briefly to check that her maid was following, she urged her horse forward ; there was no time to waste.

Bregna had burst into the Healing Rooms in the middle of the afternoon. 'Lady Viviana ! Lady Viviana, I beg you, help me !' she had called. 'My sister's child, little Sammy, needs your help… I fear it is the disease. Please, my Lady, help us !'

From what the bewildered healer had gathered, Bregna's sister lived a two days' ride away from the fort, and the epidemic had reached her home ; the knights would not head there immediately, unaware that the family was in danger. Asking Vanora to warn Guinevere, she had quickly gathered her supplies and remedies, along with some food for the journey, and the two women had set out for the territories North of the Wall.

Now they were nearing the settlement ; pulling on the reins, Viviana surveyed the view : before them lay a small valley, surrounded by the forest and partially hidden by fog. A house built in the roman style was visible at the horizon, an alley bordered with poplars and statues leading to its gates. Her black mare danced beneath her impatiently, eager to run free again after the long seclusion in the fort's stables.

They halted before the house, its wooden doors open and unguarded. Viviana's heart ached to think that they had arrived too late. Dismounting quickly, she took her bag of supplies out of the holsters on the saddle and walked inside, entering a large courtyard. It was then that she noticed that the back of the house was nothing more than a burned carcass, a skeleton of blackened beams. Only the stone walls had subsisted from the fire, and the place was obviously abandoned ; perplexed, she turned to Bregna, in time to see the heavy doors close on her. 'What is the meaning of this ?' she demanded, and the maid fell to her knees, tears streaming down her kind face. 'I'm so sorry, my Lady…' she pleaded, 'It is for the best ! I don't want to go to Hell !' 'Now you listen to me', warned Viviana, her anger rising. 'There is no such place as Hell. Now, lead me to Sammy, before he is lost !'

A harsh laugh was her answer. Turning around, she saw a man emerge from the remains of the building, his long dark robe billowing in the wind. 'Father Elysius ?!' she stared in disbelief. He pointed an accusing finger to her face : 'Witch ! Your blasphemy betrays you !' He smiled with satisfaction. 'Brothers, sisters, come, help me bring this hellhound before God's Judgement !' He opened his arms and more silhouettes stepped out of the falling shadows, men and women, pale, filthy, with hungry, mad eyes. She was soon surrounded.

He walked towards her. 'You, creature of the Malign ! You will answer today for your crimes against the people of Britain !' he raised his voice, and the crowd grew closer, listening raptly to his every word. 'You are raving !' she spat disdainfully, and he slapped her across the face with all his might. Thrown backwards, momentarily blinded by the pain, she stumbled to regain her balance. Whipping her hair out of her face, she slowly wiped away the blood that was trickling down her chin with the back of her hand and shot him a disgusted look. 'Bregna', she said between clenched teeth, 'Is your nephew really ill ? Does he exist at all ?' The woman sobbed uncontrollably, burying her face in her hands. 'God have pity of his soul !' she wailed. 'You'd let him die ?!' cried Viviana, horror-struck. 'Bregna, I beg you, take the remedy ! Don't condemn him because of this madness !'

'No !' bellowed Elysius. 'Seize her !' The fanatic crowd closed on the young woman. She knew resistance was futile, for they were too many, too determined ; and yet she fought. She could not see her maid anymore ; claw-like hands grabbed her, skinny fingers biting into her flesh, tearing her bag from her, breaking the precious vial. As the earth drank the spilled blood, she hoped that Dagonet would get to Sammy before the child was lost.

'We are the dispossessed, the forgotten !' shrieked the priest. 'We are God's children, we are His slaves !' 'God does not need slaves', she screeched, 'This is why he gave you free will !' He didn't seem to hear her, foam coming out of his mouth, his eyes rolling wildly. 'You are accused of communion with Satan, His enemy, of necromancy and sodomy !' She burst out laughing despite the horror of the situation. 'Witch ! Witch !' chanted the crowd louder and louder. A woman howled and fell to the ground, convulsing. 'See !' Elysius pointed at her, 'Satan's power is at work ! He is possessing her ! We must save her, my children !' Dread gripped Viviana's heart. 'No !'she screamed, lunging forward, almost escaping her captors, but a strong hand caught her by the hair and brutally pulled her back. Tears of horror streamed down her face as a man pulled out a knife. 'Leave her ! She's not possessed ! It's an illness !' He approached to poor woman and slit her throat in one swift movement. Blood burst out of the wound, splashing him, as he fell to his knees, arms raised to the sky, a look of adoration upon his face : 'I am His servant !' In shock, she ceased to struggle and whispered : 'You are all mad.'

Elysius seemed to have regained control over himself. 'You have been condemned by this court : therefore you must perish for your sins. You will burn in the morning, and your soul will be purified by His flames' he announced, his voice indifferent. 'Your beloved Arthur, the traitor to his faith, exiled me. He will burn too, along with those you have sullied.' He grimaced a smile. 'Now, lock her up', he added, and his followers dragged her away, down into the darkness.

* * *

Come on, you didn't seriously think I'd let Tristan die, did you ?

homeric : you were right to worry ! ;-)


	10. Burn

- 10 / Burn -

Viviana could see the sky through the small window near the ceiling of her cell. Its grey colour meant that dawn was near. The air was cold and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm.

She was sitting on a small stone bench carved in the wall, thinking about Elysius' insane plot. In Arthur's absence, Guinevere was in command. The Woad was intelligent and skilled in battle ; while she was alive, no rebellion could take and burn the fort. _And the man who could kill her traitorously is not born yet_, Viviana thought with a grim satisfaction. At least, Camboglanna was safe.

As for her… No one would worry when she didn't return, and even if they did, she was too far from the fort, in a place so well-hidden that all of Tristan's scouting skills would not suffice to find her in time. She would've liked to believe that the knights would find her and save her, like the heroes they were destined to become over the centuries. But legends remained legends. The knights she knew were only people, brave and skilled in battle, but still only human, with human strength and wisdom. In a few hours, the priest's followers would come to take her to her death. And what a horrible death it would be…

She whimpered in terror, curling up in a ball on the cold stone bench. She was so scared of what was to come : the pain, and her own life ending, without nothing to follow… Would she just cease to exist, or was there something more after she passed away from this world ? She hoped there was, for the thought of the world just going on like she never existed was suddenly unbearable to her. She really, really wanted to live. Tears filled up her eyes, and she cried for what seemed like hours, her face buried in her hands, her exhausted body trembling in fear and cold.

Upon hearing footsteps, she looked up, her heart beating wildly with a mad hope : the knights had come to rescue her. Approaching the iron bars of the cell, she knew it was impossible, but a small part of her refused to acknowledge the harsh reality. Her heart sank when she recognised the man who had murdered an ill woman in the name of God, and she recoiled into a corner. 'Witch', he spat, his eyes burning with hatred, 'Your time has come.'

* * *

She saw the fire begin to devour the pile of wood she was standing on, and she struggled with all her strength, trying to pry her wrists free from the ropes that were cutting into her skin. The logs were dry. She knew this meant that there would be no merciful death by asphyxia. Her sentence was cremation ; her agony would be complete. Blue smoke rose towards the clear sky, the acrid smell pricking her nostrils. The followers cheered loudly, eager to see her burn, to see her flesh turn to ash and her bones blacken in the heat of the pyre. The crowd was avid of sensations, drawn to her torment like leeches to a bleeding wound. Viviana watched them mass around the pyre, a show of rotten teeth and rags… Avid faces, feverish stares, no help to be expected from them. Reality finally caught up with her. She was going to die. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, and she trembled in fear.

The flames were now licking the top of the pile of wood, nearing dangerously her feet, and she shrank back against the pillar, trying to escape the fire. The clamours got louder, the crowd impatient to hear her scream in pain as she was consumed alive. Her breathing was becoming laboured, her lungs burned with smoke, her strength was waning. _He will not come…_ The sneering faces began to spin, and her vision darkened ; she tried to focus, but all she saw were coloured dots swimming in a black fog. Half-consciously, she felt something warm trickle down her fingers : her blood, flowing freely from the chafed wounds on her wrists. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and she inhaled deeply, thick smoke rushing into her lungs. _How I wish I could see him one last time…_ Viviana threw her head back in an attempt to capture some air, although she knew she was only extending her agony ; her will to live was stronger than her fear of the pain, despite what she had always thought. Her body screamed for oxygen, and through her pained eyes she saw a bird soar freely across the cloudless sky… A hawk.

The same instant, fearful screams and screeches of disappointment erupted from the crowd beneath, and an arrow embedded itself into one of the fanatics' chest. As darkness claimed her, she felt the ropes restraining her loosen and strong arms snatch her away from the deadly heat.

* * *

It felt as though someone was cradling her gently in a warm blanket. She could smell leather and herbs, the fragrance reassuring to her numb mind. Through her half-closed eyelids, she could see nothing but darkness, and yet she was not scared. She was still alive, that much she could gather from the signals her body was starting to send her. Her throat was dry and swollen, even swallowing brought her pain. Her whole body ached. Snuggling against the blanket, she managed to stick her head out into the fresh air, and saw Dagonet's face.

Relief washed over her, and she could have cried with joy. The big knight was holding her close against him, wrapped in his cloak, urging his horse forward. She studied him : his brow was creased in a worried frown, his eyes fixed intently on the road. His cheek was sporting a crimson burn, and his whole face was marred with a dark substance that Viviana identified as a mix of soot and blood. _So it must have been him who saved me from the pyre…_ He must have jumped into it to cut her free, she realised with a rush of gratitude, and… fear ? Was she afraid for him ?

She had thought about him as they led her to what should have been her death, she recalled, but she also had thought about her family, and all the people she loved. Loved… If she had been completely honest with herself, she would have seen this coming, would have realised that unbeknownst to her the gentle knight had fought for her heart, and that she had lost. The idea of him dead, or even simply _not there_, was suddenly unbearable to her ; she had grown too depending on his quiet and reassuring presence, on his kind words, his kind smile, so warm to her heart.

As her senses were coming back to her, Viviana noticed that the rocking movement of the gallop was far from gentle. The horse leapt over a log, and Viviana felt herself lose the precarious balance. She grabbed Dagonet's arm in order not to fall off, and instantly he pulled her closer, holding her tightly against him. He looked down, his face deadly serious, just like when he returned from the scouting missions, his armour crimson with both his and his enemies' blood. 'All is well, Viviana. You are safe. I will not let you fall.' 'Thank you', she murmured, exhaustion taking its toll, her eyelids heavy. 'For saving me.' He leaned in to kiss the top of her head. 'I thought you were lost', he whispered into her hair, his voice hoarse. 'I thought you were dead.' They rode in silence for a while. 'Sleep', he spoke finally. 'The Wall is still far.'

Viviana snuggled deeper into his cloak, content to have him near. High above, the dark sky was clear of clouds, the stars lighting up softly the cold night. The rhythmic thundering of hooves finally lulled her to sleep.

* * *

When she woke up again, Viviana was lying in her bed, dressed in her nightgown. The sun was already high in the sky, its light entering through the window, playing on the stone walls. When she tried to get out of bed, she saw that her wrists had been carefully bandaged, meaning that Dagonet had tended to her wounds the previous night while she was sleeping.

A new maid named Ailse helped her wash and dress, supporting her when she winced in pain, as water bit into her wounds. She was about the same age as Viviana, and it was her first job. In order to try to hide her inexperience, she prattled nervously about the dull life of the fort ; Viviana tried her best to reassure the girl, but her usually compassionate heart was elsewhere. Getting done with dressing as soon as she could, she slipped out of the room and headed for the Healing Rooms.


	11. Peace

- 11 / Peace -

Viviana saw him from afar. He was standing at the table, preparing bandages for the knights' next mission, ripping strips of fabric with powerful, swift movements. She approached silently, smiling slightly as she studied him, like she had done so many times before : his impressive silhouette, his big hands, that could kill so quickly, yet that could be so gentle…

Dagonet seemed to have sensed her presence, for he turned around and locked his silver eyes with her dark ones. He didn't smile, but she had expected that, like a rumble of thunder announcing the storm. Coming to stand beside him, she picked up a strip of fabric, twisting it around her finger with growing nervousness. She knew what was to come, and she dreaded it. Not because of what he might say : she knew that Dagonet would never do anything that could harm her in the slightest way. But what she could reveal, what she could betray, was another matter entirely. Her secrets were all she had left, no matter how dark they were, and she clung to them desperately.

'We need to talk', the large knight said evenly, and she nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. She didn't dare imagine the worry and trouble she had caused him. 'Viviana', he called, and for the first time she fought the need to look up. 'I'm sorry', she whispered. 'But I wasn't supposed to know it was a trap.' 'No.' Dagonet shook his head. 'You didn't know. But you knew, for me. You must have known how I would feel.'

She wished that he had yelled at her. 'I had to go', she lied, to him and to herself. 'No you didn't. But you wanted to. Why, Viviana ?'

He was reading her like an open book ; let him see, then, the tears of shame that streamed down her face when she dug up the true reason behind her actions, the selfish, lowly reason. 'It is what I do', she said, finally meeting his eyes daring him to despise her for what was to come. 'I save people. It is what everyone is expecting of me, I can see it in their eyes. And in this world, it is all I _can_ do. All I am good for… I had feared that if I refused, I would become useless, and you wouldn't need me anymore…' Dagonet frowned, his eyes stripping her of any trace of pretence, tearing down the last remains of her mask from her scorched, bleeding heart. She could not lie to him. 'Viviana, please, no more secrets. This is not an idea of yours', he said, narrowing his eyes. 'Tell me his name.'

'Jonathan. His name was Jonathan.' She sensed his body tense, his strong hands ball into fists, becoming for a heartbeat the killer he was on the battlefield. She saw the cold, unforgiving power flash in his eyes, a terrifying shadow cross his features. 'Did he…' he growled, and Viviana shook her head. 'Oh, he never was violent', she laughed bitterly. 'Had he behaved so, reason would have told me to flee. But his torture was a subtle one, a slow poison he took pleasure in instilling into my mind. Sweet words with a twist, compliments but not quite : he made me doubt everything about myself, and I kept finding him excuses, justifying his ways. He said I wasn't good enough, and I believed him. And when I finally left, telling him that I've been stupid to trust him in the first place, do you know what he said ?' The knight shook his head gravely. 'Truth is, you still are stupid.' She lowered her head, eyes shut, her dark locks sticking to her tear-smeared cheeks. Then she felt a warm hand cup her cheek, forcing her to look up, to face his silver gaze. 'You can twist words as you like, make them weapons or cures. The truth lies not in what you say.' He smiled sadly. 'I know I don't say much. I'm not good with words. And I'm not young anymore. But if you let me, I'll take care of you, I swear.'

She knew she didn't even have to speak. She just leaned into his hand, and closed her eyes. True to his word, he scooped her up into his embrace, where she knew nothing bad could ever happen to her.

* * *

The feast, that night, was a sumptuous one, celebrating the end of the epidemic. Viviana sat at the Head Table, between Dagonet and Tristan. The three of them ate in silence, enjoying the evening and the company of their friends, chuckling occasionally at Tristan's low comments on Galahad's pitiful attempts to best Bors in a drinking game. Lancelot, seated next to the scout, had given up his attempts to charm her after Dagonet's first menacing look, much to Viviana's relief, for she was unsure of how to answer such playful flirting. Ever the charmer, he was now engaged in his favourite activity, but his best smile, directed at a young woman sitting at Guinevere's left, was intercepted by a rather ugly serving maid in her late fifties. The woman, flattered by this display of attention from a young and handsome knight, answered his flirtatious smile, using his empty goblet as an excuse to lean forward and whisper in his ear the location of her room, promising him a 'hot night of passion', which made Gawain cry with laughter. 'You know…' he panted, wiping his tears with his sleeve, 'I knew you liked experienced women, but this time, I'd say you overdid it…'

Viviana studied the other occupants of the Head Table : Guinevere was conversing with Gawain, apparently ignoring her husband. Arthur looked somewhat grumpy, drinking from his goblet in obstinate silence. From time to time, he glanced at his wife, his expression darkening even more because of her indifference. 'Our Queen is fierce', whispered Tristan beside her. 'She came with us to retrieve you. Against Arthur's wish.'

Viviana remembered the arrow that killed one of Elysius' followers. A Woad arrow, then… She remembered her captivity, and wondered what became of Bregna. She already knew from Dagonet that it was Tristan who had killed the priest, severing his head with one swift movement of his sword, and the big knight regretted that it hadn't been him.

As the feast neared its end, some of the knights left for the tavern, although in Galahad's case this would probably be an idea he'd regret in the morning. Viviana got up and bid the remaining knights and the royal couple goodnight. Dagonet rose from his seat, and when she looked at him questioningly, he shrugged. 'You are not walking back alone.' They both remembered all too well what had happened the last time he had left her, and she made no move to discourage him. They walked in silence, Dagonet a reassuring shadow behind her, until they reached her door. Viviana felt a twinge of anxiety grip her. They were alone, and the hour was late… Even if she cursed herself for being so childish, chiding herself that they were both adults, she fidgeted with the key, struggling to tell him that she wanted him to stay with her, tonight. He waited patiently, until she finally managed to unlock the door, her awkwardness and anticipation growing stronger. Slipping inside, she left the door slightly ajar, like an invitation, not daring to look back to see his reaction. Stepping slowly into the dark room, she listened intently to the silence, until she heard the door close and felt two muscular arms encircle her waist.

Dagonet pulled her closer, and she tilted her head back, resting it against his shoulder, closing her eyes. In the dark, her sensations seemed increased, his fragrance and warmth surrounding her. She inhaled sharply when she felt his lips on her neck ; his mouth left a burning trail on her skin, kissing, nibbling, and his hands slid higher, caressing her breasts across the fabric of her dress. Viviana felt a delicious warmth awaken between her legs, and she grabbed the back of his thighs, pulling him against her, leaning into his body, feeling his arousal across her skirts. She moved her hips slightly and heard Dagonet moan into her neck, as his grip on her tightened. Turning around, she slid further into his embrace, and he kissed her passionately. When they both gasped for air, their lips swollen and their eyes feverish, his gaze held a silent question. She smiled and stepped back, nodding in answer ; the knight turned away, walked slowly to the door, and she heard the metallic rattle of the latch when he turned the key.

Later that night, they lay under the covers, Viviana snuggled against Dagonet's broad chest, one of his strong arms holding her protectively. Her fingers drew lazy patterns on his skin, tickling him occasionally, and then he would catch her hand gently and kiss each fingertip.

Feeling sleepy, she snuggled closer, winding an arm around his waist, and Dagonet kissed her forehead tenderly. 'I love you', he said, and she whispered 'Love you too', smiling against his skin. His steady heartbeat soon lulled her to sleep.

* * *

She was woken by someone banging loudly on the door. Opening an eye lazily, she saw that the sun was barely rising, painting the room in shades of pink through the half-closed shutters. 'Go away', she mumbled, crawling closer to Dagonet's still sleeping form, but the noise didn't stop. The knight gave no sign of awakening, his body relaxed and warm, sprawled out under the covers. _He must be used to hearing noise in his sleep_, she thought, _he does live next to Lancelot…_ She noticed that he slept with his mouth open, and chuckled.

In the meantime, the person on the other side seemed to have given up on waking her, and Viviana sighed contentedly, closing her eyes, thinking she could back to sleep. Instead, she heard the latch, and remembered too late that her maid possessed the key. Sitting up hurriedly, she pulled on the sheets to cover herself up, her sleepy mind realizing too late that her gesture had left Dagonet with no cover at all. Before she could warn him, Ailse burst into the room, and squeaked in horror upon seeing a very naked knight. She turned on her heels and slammed the door behind her, finally waking him.

Dagonet sat abruptly, searching instinctively for his weapon. He swore when he didn't find it, rubbed his eyes and swore again ; Viviana smiled. Who knew that the healer was not a morning person…

'Lady Viviana…' came Ailse's mortified voice from the other side of the wooden door. She could almost imagine the crimson blush that was spreading on the young maid's cheeks. 'The King requests your presence immediately.' She hesitated. 'It's the Queen… Lady Guinevere needs your help.'


	12. Viviana's Choice

- 12 / Viviana's Choice -

Viviana dressed hurriedly, picking up the clothes scattered all around the room, and glanced briefly in the mirror to check her appearance. She winced, noticing that her hair was a complete mess, and pushed the locks that stuck out the most behind her ears. There was no time for more, even if she was somewhat ashamed to appear before the King and Queen of Britain in such a state. Opening the door slightly, she slipped out, in order not to embarrass both Ailse and Dagonet, who was retrieving his breeches under the bed, looking vaguely surprised to find them there.

Her maid was waiting in the corridor, wringing her hands nervously. When Viviana appeared, she curtsied hurriedly. 'My Lady please forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude on… Well… I didn't know… Sir Dagonet… Oh my God…' she stammered breathlessly, but Viviana raised a hand, cutting off her apologies. 'No excuses needed. Now, I understand this is an emergency ?' Casting one last fearful look on the door of the chamber, Ailse picked up her skirts and led her to the royal apartments, where they were met by a surly-looking Lancelot, who motioned them to enter, yawning widely. The handsome knight checked out Ailse's swaying backside when they walked past him, answering Viviana's disapproving stare with his most innocent smile.

Rolling her eyes, the young woman stepped into the room, taking in the scene before her : Guinevere was sitting in the large bed, arms crossed, looking every bit the rebellious Woad she used to be. Her husband was pacing in front of the window, his forehead creased in worry ; Viviana could see that like her, he had pulled on the first clothes he had found. 'She has been ill !' he said at once, pointing accusingly at his wife, who rolled her eyes, huffing in annoyance.

Studying the Queen, Viviana had to agree with him : Guinevere's face was paler and thinner than usually. 'I will examine her', she said cautiously, but Arthur did not seem to take the hint. 'You will have to leave', she continued ; he stopped in the middle of his pacing and shot her a stern look. 'I am not leaving her.' 'What ?!' The Queen seethed with rage. 'I am perfectly able to take care of myself, thank you ! Have you forgotten who I am ?!' He opened his mouth to protest, but she grabbed a pillow : 'Get out !' she screeched, aiming for his head. Arthur admitted his defeat, and retreated hurriedly to the door, casting Viviana one last look that meant 'This better never leave this room.'

When the door slammed behind him, Guinevere sniffed half-heartedly, and then burst into tears, throwing herself back on the bed. 'I don't know what is wrong with me…' she wailed, burying her face into the remaining pillow. Viviana perched herself cautiously on the edge of the bed, perplexed by this new, emotional side of Guinevere. 'I cry all the time… And I throw up, and I'm all weak, it's just… revolting !' the young Woad finished lamely, and everything slipped into place. When Viviana burst out laughing, she narrowed her eyes in indignation. 'What ?!' 'A great illness indeed', chuckled the healer. 'My Queen, you are pregnant !' Guinevere sat up, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. She smiled tentatively, laying a protective hand on her flat stomach, trying to feel the small flicker of life that had awoken inside her.

'Congratulations, my Queen. You are with child', said Viviana after a brief examination. She watched as Guinevere's face lit up with joy, and envied her for an instant. She turned away, leaving the young Queen to her private moment of happiness, but Guinevere caught her hand. 'Will you help me ?' she asked anxiously, and Viviana nodded. 'I will be there. I promise.'

Exiting the room, she saw that Arthur had resumed his pacing in the antechamber. Dagonet was leaning against the wall, as impassive as ever. She shared a tender smile with the large knight, and Lancelot's eyes lit up at once when he finally noticed her and Dagonet's rumpled clothes. He smiled cheerfully, winking at his brother when he thought Viviana wasn't looking. 'Lancelot', grumbled Dagonet, 'Wink one more time and I swear I'll strangle you. Right here, right now.'

Viviana turned to Arthur, who was looking at her expectantly. 'My King, you need not worry. Your wife is faring well, and I have good news for you. You are to become a father !' she announced, grinning widely, and he smiled tentatively while the knights congratulated their leader, embracing him with all their heart.

'I believe congratulations are in order', said suddenly a deep voice. The three of them turned around, and she saw an old man, draped in a dark cloak, his face adorned with blue paintings standing in the doorway. 'Merlin', said Arthur, and Lancelot's face darkened. The knight had never forgotten that the sorcerer was once the leader of their worst enemies in Britain, and that many of his brothers had fallen during Woad raids that he had ordered. 'Merlin', said Dagonet's deep voice, but his silver eyes were on Viviana, full of worry and sadness.

* * *

'Everything has a reason, a beginning', spoke Merlin, 'But what is your purpose here, I do not know.' He buried himself deeper into the folds of his dark cloak, relaxing in his chair. He was obviously enjoying the gloomy atmosphere of the Table Room : a solitary fire was burning its centre ; long, unsettling shadows were clawing on the tapestries covering the stone walls. Viviana shuddered. She was cold, despite Dagonet's cloak wrapped around her shoulders, but it was not only her body that was suffering ; she was about to get the answers she had longed for since her arrival, but now she realized that she equally dreaded them. Merlin's absence had given her an excuse to settle into this new life, and she had discovered that she could find her place, here. However, soon she would have to face the truth, to choose what it was that she really wanted.

'There are places in this world that are sacred. Blood has been shed in sacrifice, there, and such an offering liberates a sufficient amount of energy to disturb the veil between times and places. Such are for instance the workings of foresight ; the sorcerers of my people have sought for centuries to achieve what you have done.' Viviana understood that this conversation would be a long one ; the old man was speaking in riddles, obviously enjoying the sound of his own voice. She could faintly hear the sounds of the feast, and the joyous cheers of the crowd ; she felt like she was drowning. 'Under particular circumstances, these places become easier to use, and one uninitiated can travel to another era inadvertently.' Merlin looked her up and down malevolently, probably considering it as a personal offence that she had achieved such a journey by mistake. 'Circumstances such as… ?' asked Viviana, who was growing tired of his little game. The old man waved his hand contemptuously. 'Eclipses, comets, or in this case, a star alignment… Anything that feeds popular beliefs and fears.' He continued : 'You can go back. But' he lifted a bony finger 'You must leave tonight, during the last moments of the alignment.'

She looked at him. He had just given her the answer she had longed to hear for weeks ; then why did she feel so empty ? Where did this sadness, this disappointment come from ? 'Will there be another moment like tonight ?' she asked with hope in her voice, but Merlin shook his head vehemently. 'Not during this century.' He shot her a stern look. 'Do not fool yourself. You must go back. However grateful for your help we might be, you do not belong here.' She looked down, studying her hands that looked so pale in the flickering light of the fire. 'I am needed here', she whispered, trying desperately to come up with a plausible excuse to stay. He laughed, but there was no joy in this sound, only years of harsh experience. 'As I said, do not fool yourself. People have died of disease for centuries ; they will continue to do so once you are gone. You will not change the future.'

He looked at her again, and something in her distress seemed to have softened his heart. Maybe he remembered his daughter, in her younger years, before she became a warrior hardened by battle and duty ? When she was only Guinevere, his little girl ? Maybe guilt tugged at his conscience, reminding him of how he had forged her life, moulded it to fit his plans ? 'You should leave', he murmured, touching her cold hand with his. 'You have no destiny here.'

Her eyes narrowed in anger. 'And who are you to decide for me ?' she hissed, withdrawing her hand. 'Know this : I am not Guinevere ; I am not Arthur. Do not toy with me. I make my own destiny.'

* * *

Viviana stood on the stone ramparts of Camboglanna, her hands resting on the railing, taking in the landscape that was stretching out before her eyes. The green plain, the forest, the eternal fog that people would complain about centuries after she died.

The beacons on the Wall flickered in the wind, welcoming home the knights who were returning from their mission. She counted them : seven were coming back, the rhythmic sound of their horses' hooves echoing on stone.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply the smell of the sea, and thought about her life, and her future in this world. She was now a respected healer, and would soon begin her training to become a midwife. This new talent would soon be needed ; Guinevere was now five months into her pregnancy, her rounded belly clearly visible. Her child would be the symbol of the alliance between all the people of Britain, a ray of hope. And a new beginning, for all of them.

Viviana contemplated for an instant the pale scars that ran on both of her wrists, and the simple silver band on her left ring finger. She had paid for her new life with her blood, but it was worth every crimson droplet : for the first time in her short existence, she dreamed of nothing more than what she already had.

A hawk's cry echoed through the sky, and she smiled. All was well ; her husband and her friends were coming home, they were all alive, unhurt and safe – at least for a while.

* * *

"Happiness is not having what you want. It is wanting what you have."

* * *

I'd like to thank all those who reviewed : your words provided support and encouragment, alo,g with great help for my work.

For all those who read the story: please, it only takes a few minutes to review... And I need the feedback for my school project. Thanks again !


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